You are my Breaking Point, You are my Savior
by keepcalmandfangirlon
Summary: England has been captured by Nazi Germany, who discovers that England's only breaking point is America. Meanwhile, America races to save his former mentor and secret love. USUK, multichapter. Major angst. Set during WWII.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**

**Hi! It's me writing my first multichapter fic. Quick facts that will help you understand this so you don't ask too many questions. My Hetalia headcanon is that Germany had the split personality of Nazi Germany during WWII, who is the truly insane megalomaniac. Our Germany, meanwhile, had no idea that this was going on. So that's who this guy is. Also, this will be USUK. Don't like, don't read. Okay, so let's get this show on the road! *snaps fingers* **

**1941**

England tested the ropes binding him to his chair and was dismayed to find they were good quality. It would take a knife to cut through them, and even if he had a knife, he wouldn't be able to get out of the chair because _his hands were bloody tied together_. In any case, his only choice was to wait for his captor to come and talk to him. Thankfully, he did not have to wait long. Germany entered the darkened basement room. Or, at least, someone who looked a lot like Germany. He had Germany's blonde hair, ramrod straight posture, and fair skin. But his eyes…his eyes were blood red and insane. And he had an expression of cruelty on his face that England had never seen on Germany's.

"Who are you?"

"You know who I am."

"You're not Germany. I know Germany. He's a man I've fought with and against. He's a worthy opponent and a good man altogether. And you, _sir_, are not him."

England was expecting the punch in the face but was surprised by its strength.

"Brilliant deduction. Your French friend was a bit slower on the uptake."

England fought back the surge of anger at his mention of France. He could not pinpoint the exact second he stopped seeing the frog as an enemy and more as a friend who was also a rival. Maybe they didn't always agree, but the idea of his ally being tortured by this pathetic excuse for a country made his blood boil. He knew a reaction was what whoever this was wanted. France had been on the run ever since his country had fallen almost a year ago. England had hoped he was safe. _He could still be. He could be lying to unhinge you. Stay calm._

"All right. Germany is currently about a hundred miles away, training his little Italian pet. I was sent here by our boss to interrogate our prisoner."

_Don't speak. _England thought to himself. _Don't show fear._

"I know how it felt in the years after the last war, the war you and your allies blamed Germany for. My goal is to make you hurt more than you ever hurt him."

England's eyes went wide as something occurred to him.

"You're Nazi Germany. If a personality split occurred, something major must have happened that Germany doesn't know about. What's going on? What are you doing?"

Nazi Germany smiled slowly.

"That is none of your business. So, tonight I believe we have a little something scheduled for your capitol city. Enjoy."

The television screen in the wall of the room flickered to life, revealing London. England knew what was coming. That didn't stop it from hurting like hell when the bombs ripped through his body, leaving injuries that he knew would scar. He closed his eyes, but that didn't stop the screaming of his people, or the fire he knew was consuming the city he loved.

_Stay strong. You can't break. You're England. You're stronger than he is_

**One Week Later**

England paced his cell, careful not to put weight on his left leg. Every day, guards would take him to the television room and force him to watch the destruction of his cities. December had come, and his heart hurt for the soldiers who wouldn't be home for Christmas. But he was okay. He wasn't physically whole, his left ankle was sprained, his torso was bruised, he knew he had a few broken ribs, and a constant pain in his heart from the constant assault on his country, but he hadn't cried, hadn't screamed, and hadn't broken. He was winning. At six, he sat on his cot, waiting for Nazi Germany to come. But nothing happened. He felt the bombings, but he was alone in his cell, not being watched by Nazi Germany or any guards. He stretched out on his cot and clenched his fists, not letting his pain show on his face, in case there were cameras. _Something's going to happen._ Something did happen. At midnight, as he lay sleepless on his cot, the guards came. He didn't fight them as they dragged him down the hallway, or as they tied him to the chair. They would win those fights. But they couldn't break him.

Nazi Germany walked in. He was smiling; a sure sign something terrible was going to happen.

"Hello, England. Sorry we woke you."

England said nothing.

"I had a discussion with my boss about you. You see, you're being quite frustrating. We like to break our prisoners, and you're just not breaking. You seemed to have no weakness."

England couldn't resist raising his eyebrows just a little bit, as if to say _it sure took you a long time to figure that out_.

"But then we did some research on your history. Your former allies, your brothers, your…ex-colonies."

England's heart suddenly sped up. He struggled to stay calm

"Are you referring to America? Because I can assure you, I have no feelings for him at all. We were allies during the First World War but that's the closest contact we've had since 1812."

His voice shook a little and he prayed that Nazi Germany didn't hear. But one look at his face and it was clear he had.

"We had planned this for a little while, but now the timing couldn't be more perfect. After all, it's the one thing that can break the great country of England."

The television turned on and zoomed in on a map of Hawaii. England struggled against his bonds.

"No. You can't. America is neutral. You can't j-just do this."

Nazi Germany smirked.

"He hasn't exactly behaved like a neutral country lately. Too busy helping his former mentor out of his latest mess. You can watch your America burn, England, and know that this war, and what is about to happen to him is entirely your fault."

"No!"

Nazi Germany lifted a walkie-talkie to his mouth.

"Give the order, Japan."

"No, please, no!"

England felt his hands shaking and couldn't stop the terror in his voice or the tears that welled up in his eyes.

And the ships of Pearl Harbor burned.

**A/N**

***Winces* Wow , that was dark. And hard to write. I had to torture my England. *hides in crate of tomatoes* I'm just going to sit in here for a bit. Next stop, America! We'll see his reaction and him leaving to rescue England. And it will be amazing because I love these two so much! **


	2. Chapter 2

America had fallen asleep in his office again. It was the third time since December had started and despite constant suggestions, pleas, and finally, orders from his boss, he'd insisted that he needed to personally help find a solution to the depression that had gripped the country.

"It's your job to take care of yourself, America."

"Yeah, and you're totally setting a good example. When was the last time you got a good night's sleep, or sat down to eat a meal, for that matter?"

"You are a country. I am a person-''

"As long as you stay up, I will too."

A tense silence fell between the two men which was finally broken by America.

"Come on dude, it's almost Christmas. I want as many kids off the street as possible. I hate the thought of anyone being sad when it's Christmastime."

President Roosevelt nodded, knowing he was beaten.

"Fine. But Churchill is coming in the morning, so get at least a few hours of sleep so you can focus. Be home in your bed by midnight."

"Fair enough."

It was twelve thirty when Roosevelt walked into America's office and found the young nation asleep on a pile of paper spread out on his desk.

"America."

He shook the nation's shoulder.

"America, wake up."

America jolted awake, shouting something about dust and rain.

"Dude! Don't scare me like that."

"Why are you still here?"

"I had work I needed to get done. I can't go to sleep. Whenever I sleep, I see their faces; hear the children crying…I can't help them by sleeping."

America ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his glasses, which were hanging off his face. He had an ink stain on his cheek and crease marks from the paper on the other one.

"And Eng- all my friends in Europe are getting hurt too, every day. I'm supposed to be the hero but I can't help anyone. I'm so sick of feeling helpless."

Roosevelt sighed and rubbed his temples.

"America, if I could help them, I would. All of them. And I would join this war if I had the choice. No one wants to help Europe, or England more than I- America?"

America had slumped over his desk. The president grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back up, and was shocked at what he saw. A dark scarlet stain was spreading across the country's white shirt. His eyes were glassy, and as Roosevelt watched in horror, they slid shut and America passed out. The president grabbed the phone that was blessedly close to him on the desk.

"Hello, NEOC? This is the president speaking. I need an emergency team. Quickly. I think something's happened to America."

_America stood on a Hawaiian beach. The stars twinkled above him like diamonds in the night air. A cool wind ruffled his hair. The glow of sunrise was on the horizon. He was at Pearl Harbor, and it was seven forty. He didn't know how he knew it, but he knew it with absolute certainty. _

"_You've always had beautiful beaches, America."_

_England stood next to him._

"_England? What are you doing here? W-What happened to you?"_

_England was razor thin and looked like he had been through a war, which, America thought ruefully, he had. A tear rolled down England's cheek._

"_Why are you crying?"_

_England never cried. Not since that day in the rain. America knew this. What could make England cry?_

"_I'm sorry, my love."_

_The beach exploded in flames. England was gone. America heard laughing, terrifying, maniac laughing and screaming on all sides, screaming from his people. _

_Something had happened. Something like-_

America's eyes opened slowly. _What had happened? He was talking to the president. He had felt a searing pain and fainted, and then what? _

The dream.

"England!"

He sat up with a jolt and then fell back into his bed, wincing. He was in the hospital bunker for nations, under the West Wing of the White House. It had been built during the Civil War. He had spent a lot of time there. America slowly ran a hand over his side, feeling bandages. The wound was healing, he was a nation after all, but he still felt pain. It was a wound deliberately inflicted by someone on his land, not a natural scar like one a tornado would leave.

"America? Are you all right?

Of course his boss was here.

"Yes sir, I'm fine."

"It's perfectly acceptable to not be fine," said another voice "That was one hell of a blow you took from Japan."

Winston Churchill sat in the other hospital chair, looking somewhat shaken, although that could have been because he was without his ever-present cigar.

"I'm glad to see if you're okay, America."

America nodded.

"Canada sends his regards, and-"

""What about England?"

"Excuse me?"

America tried to push himself up on his elbows more.

"Did England come with you? Is he here?"

Churchill looked at Roosevelt, who nodded.

"It is odd that you came here without him."

Churchill sighed.

"England didn't come with me. He couldn't."

America smiled ruefully.

"He didn't want to see me. Of course."

"No, that's not it. He isn't here because he's been kidnapped. I've had my best soldiers out looking for him, but they've found nothing. He's been gone for a week. America, what are you doing?"

America had swung both of his legs out of the bed and was rolling up his sleeve.

"I have work to do."

He flinched as he pulled out his IV.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm going to Europe. How soon can you get me a jet?"

"America- "

"_How soon?_"

Roosevelt looked at Churchill, who nodded.

"Two, maybe three hours."

America nodded, walking out of the room.

"I'll need it in two."

America walked up the stairs to his room, throwing open his bedroom and closet doors.

"Where is it? God, I need to clean this. Oh-here it is."

America pulled out the brown leather jacket with the fifty on the back, and rummaged in the pocket, pulling out a pair of white gloves

**Two hours later**

Perhaps the pain in his side had faded, or perhaps the adrenaline had simply blocked it out, but America could barely feel the attack. It had faded to a dull throb. He walked towards the glass doors that led to the plane that the president and prime minister had secured for him, and then paused. Slowly, he put on the jacket he had over his arm and then slid on the gloves, and then pushed open the doors that led to the runway.

"I'm on my way, England."

_I'm on my way, my love._

**A/N**

**So? Any questions, comments?**

**Reviewers get cookies!**


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